Saturday, 23 June 2012

Stage whisper: "I am on medication...!" I know, right? Shocking. But seriously, I am not ashamed to admit it. Like someone who is diabetic needs insulin to function better, I too need Zoloft to deal with my OCD & anxiety. But many people are ashamed. And people who should be on medication resist it - for numerous reasons, the biggest, I believe, being the stigma attached and the "crazy person" label that comes with it.

I went on Zoloft in March last year after a bout of suicidal thoughts and behaviours linked to my thanatophobia and my recent (at the time) OCD diagnosis. My head is not a fun place to be. Not by any stretch of the imagination. When my psychologist suggested I go see a psychiatrist, I knew what was coming. What is a psychiatrist if not a psychologist with a prescription pad, right? But even when the psychologist handed me the script, I looked at his outstretched hand with disdain. His hand hovered before he registered that I was not going to make any motion towards accepting his prescription. So he put it on the desk beside me. And when I left, he had to practically wrestle it into my hand. What followed was not pretty and I owe a few people a great debt of gratitude for how they rallied around me. I was not well.

The thing that frightens me now is, I am still not well. I leave for England in 71 sleeps and I decided a while ago I don't want to be on medication on my holiday. So I've been gradually weaning myself off the tablets. And it's been going fine. My withdrawals are beginning to subside and I'm able to go longer and longer between tablets. But I have regressed. I've been feeling it slowly happen over a period of time but I have been trying to deal with it - to ignore my paranoia, to self soothe and to control my anger. But tonight was a major slap in the face for me.

I'm back to being anxious and paranoid. My team lost at football tonight. It's your fault. They aren't happy that they lost. And now they all hate me. Even more than they already did. We let in seven goals. Because you suck and you let your team down. But we did get two goals. Yeah, no thanks to you!

I'm back to being angry and temperamental. I actually had the ref pull me out of the game to have a stern word to me because I was mouthing off. And your team was ashamed to know you! I am not a "mouthing off" kind of girl. But that's the thing, you see. I am. Samantha is a "mouthing off", angry, snarky, acidic, paranoid girl. Samantha-on-Zoloft is not. The paranoia, I could deal with (sort of) because that's all internal. But having no control over my behaviour and finding myself yelling at opponents and the ref is horrible. When a girl blatantly and deliberately fouled me outside of the ref's view, a small voice piped up, "Just hit her! Just punch her square in the jaw!" But I am not a hitting person! I've never hit anybody in my life! But again, I guess Samantha is. It's Samantha-on-Zoloft who is not a hitting person. Samantha tonight had to fight very, very hard not to obey that small voice.

I'm finding it hard to verbalise my feelings right now and explain why I am unhappy about this. You see, I don't have a problem with being on medication. I think my problem lies in the fact that I need it, or I feel I need it, to be a better person. I have heard people say the nicest things about me lately. I'm actually in awe and humbled by how highly people seem to think of me. But now, and it very well could be the paranoia talking, I feel like all these people like Samantha-on-Zoloft, not Samantha. Who I am, in essence, is not good enough. So who am I really? When you need medication as a diabetic, nobody judges you but when your symptoms manifest to the point you feel the need to apologise to your team for your behaviour (and I did) then you feel somehow less than perfect. But I suppose, considering how anxious, paranoid and irrationally angry I am lately, I should give the public what it wants. Or who it wants.

The other danger I find myself in is being so tired. I don't mean like, I need a nap. I mean I am drained of all emotion, will and drive. It's the same feeling that preceded my suicidal episode last year. And I made a promise to those who helped me that I would do everything they asked me to do to get better... and stay... here... alive. And part of that was admitting when I feel like this. And I guess, this is me admitting that I do. So Samantha - anxious, paranoid and irrationally angry Samantha - should submit to Samantha-on-Zoloft. And you know how there is a song for every emotion and situation? (Or maybe that's just me...) but the song (slightly adjusted) comes to you courtesy of Eminem.

"I've created a monster, 'cause nobody wants to
see {Samantha} no more they want {Samantha-on-Zoloft}
I'm chopped liver.
Well if you want {Samantha-on-Zoloft}, then this is what I'll give ya."

Or at least, I should. Right?

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions:

Are you or have you been on medication for a mental health issue?

How did it make you feel? What about if/when you came off it?

What do you think of people who need a tablet a day to function?

Please remember that Samantha wrote this, not Samantha-on-Zoloft.

It's probably irrational, unbalanced and warped but it's not attention-seeking, I promise.

But please be gentle as I have blogged my own truth - and that takes courage, right?

Friday, 22 June 2012

Please note: I absolutely do not intend to offend anyone with this post - just like I know nobody who made or posted the photo in this blog intended to offend anyone.

Please read this post in the spirit it was intended.

This image came up in my timeline. Just read it over.

How did that make you feel? Did you feel all warm & fuzzy, nodding your head enthusiastically? You either have a child or want children rather badly. Am I right? I don't know... Well for me, it makes me rather angry. I don't have children. I have no real desire to have children. And because I don't meet the criteria marked out by this Facebook picture then I haven't known love. I'm not exaggerating. That's what it says. Right there, "You haven't known love." Direct quote.

Well I don't know who originally wrote this (and for that matter, why they even felt the need) but I beg to differ!

I have counted the perfect little fingers and toes of my friend's baby - a baby I watched enter the world and who I shared in the grief with his parents as we held him as he died two days later. That's love.

I held the hand of my high school boyfriend and felt my heart beat so fast it nearly exploded out of my chest. That's love.

I kissed the nose of my puppy and felt her lick my cheek back. That's love.

I soothed the tummy of my uni boyfriend as he was very ill and I wished I could do something to take away his pain. That's love.

I have read my blog posts out to my dad while he sits quietly and we talk about all sorts of things - things that one day, I may never get to talk to him about anymore. That's love.

I have wiped the tears of my best friend as she dealt with pain, heartache and sorrow. That's love.

And I'm sorry but "powdering a little booty" is not high on my list of things to do.

So how dare the creator of this photo insinuate that I have not "known love" because I haven't spawned my own offspring? I have not experienced the love a parent feels for their child, it's true. But I have known love. I have loved deeply and I have loved passionately. But I don't feel the need to jam this down everybody's throat. Why do some parents?

Most of the girls on my Facebook have children. I get that. We're mostly around 26 so yeah, child bearing age. But I don't. And it's by choice. (Imagine how I would feel looking at this photo if it was not by choice? What if I desperately longed for a child but could not conceive?) I could have had a child if I wanted to. Once upon a time I had a long term boyfriend or a "partner" as you start calling your boyfriend when you want to be taken more seriously but aren't engaged or married. I even owned a house and bought Better Homes and Gardens magazines. We discussed it but I have never really felt the need to procreate.

Anyway, now I love my life. For me, it is damn near perfect just the way it is. In fact, to be totally honest, I am wary of talking too much about how much I love my life and about all the wonderful things that happen for fear of upsetting people who have lives that are different to mine (if that makes sense?) It's not that I think my life is the ultimate in perfection, but for me, it really is. And I am concious that I may have things others covet and I am not about to start gloating about that. I have a job that I love and am about to become a published author. I have the time to chill out and write my blog, play video games and was easily able to make the commitment to join an amazing football team. I sleep in every weekend. Sometimes I don't get out of bed until midday because I'm just laying around all cozy-like playing around on my iPad. And it's not a treat. It's just a Saturday. I drive a brand new car and yes, I am about to pack up and move to England for around four months because I have nothing tying me down. Now I didn't pick and choose what I mentioned then, I just listed the things in my life that make me happiest. But in all actuality, I couldn't really do any of them if I had a child. I just couldn't. And one of my favourite things about my life is I have no idea where I will be in a year's time. My future could bring anything and I have so much to look forward to! But does that mean I have not known love? Maternal love, no. I have not known that. But love is different to every person and every situation.

You know, I tried to find a photo to counter the one in this post. I actually tried really hard. I couldn't find one. (Unless you count Breeder Bingo!) Nobody has bothered to make an "I love my life as a single, childless woman" picture thing. I hope that's because they're too busy actually living the life they love and not because there aren't any happy, single, childless women. So I really have to wonder, why do these "I love being a mummy" pictures even exist? And in all different shapes and forms! Who is making them and why? And really, when people announce time and time again how much they love their life and their children it gets old and I'm sorry if this seems rude but I start to wonder, who are they trying to convince? Me? Or themselves?

I get that people love their children and in their words, they love them more than anything else in the world. And that's great. I am honestly happy for them. I truly hope they feel the same satisfaction and happiness with their lives as I do with mine. But how dare someone tell me I do not "know love" and insinuate that my life is anything less than perfect because I don't have children?

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions

Do you have children or not? Are you happy with this decision?

What would your ideal life be?

Have I missed the point with these kinds of images?

"I believe anything less than mad, passionate, extraordinary love is a waste of time. There are too many mediocre things in life. Love shouldn't be one of them."

Monday, 18 June 2012

We've all been guilty of egosurfing, right? You know, jumping onto Google, typing in your own name and seeing what comes up? If you have a common name, you probably see lots of web pages related to your most famous namesake. When I do this, it comes up with a list of 10 webpages - only two of which are not mine. I guess that makes me the most famous "Samantha Mawdsley". Hell, even most of the Google images are of me or photos from my blog, so I must be doing something right!

Egosurfing: Samantha Mawdsley

Egosurfing has all sorts of benefits. You can manage your online presence and make sure you are perceived as you want to be and it chews up a few minutes when you're really bored. It's also how I found the other "Samantha Mawdsley" who I will be meeting at the end of the year. But the other night, this happened.

I was driving home from football training and as a car overtook me, I lazily looked over. A guy was looking at me, quite intently. As I glanced over, he smiled. He was about my age and pretty cute too. As he continued on past me I suddenly wondered if he could find me if he wanted to.

I have had a guy I chatted to briefly in a bar, and who knew very little about me, find me on Facebook. He only knew me as "Samantha" but still, there was his creepy, uncalled for friend request staring at me the next morning. It has the potential to be quite disconcerting. I may have innocuously mentioned some unique details about myself or even what I do as my 9-5 seeing as that is a pretty unique job. But could a perfect stranger who smiled at me from a passing car track me down just from that simple exchange?

From what this young man saw, he knew (or could very easily guess) my name seeing as my personalised number plates have 'SAM' on them. I have a Liverpool scarf as well as a 'Princess on Board' sign in my rear window. Chances are I lived in that city as it was late on a Thursday night so I was hardly on a road trip to another state. So when I got home, I googled the information he had about me.

So yes. Yes, a perfect stranger could track me down just from that simple exchange. From this point, it wouldn't take much more of a computer hacker to come up with much more personal details. My only consolation is that searching that combination without my home city doesn't lead to me at all. Leaving out 'Princess' also affords me a little bit more privacy (which I find hilarious!) So the stranger would have to think a little bit in order to track me down but they could, theoretically, do it.

Wednesday, 13 June 2012

So here I am, alone on my couch beside a cupcake paper. I am about to watch my first State of Origin since primary school. Back then, we actually wondered who would win - Queensland or New South Wales. My brother and I would watch it so we could discuss it at school the next day. I am watching tonight as part of my 'Will Blog For Music' campaign at the request of my kind benefactor, Jacob Grams.

I am not a newbie to NRL. It's no secret that I am a diehard football fan and consider all other sports to be sub-standard but once upon a time I was a huge Broncos fan. I was a sweet little blonde girl of about four years old and I loved nothing more than going with my Nana to see the Broncos play! Imagine little Samantha in her pigtails, wearing her brother's old jersey and waving her little flag! One of Nana's favourite stories to tell about me was the time we were at a Broncos game and I spotted a rough-looking bikie fellow who wasn't standing for the national anthem. I screeched, "Nana! That man isn't standing!" She panicked that I was about to cause trouble but instead, the 7'8" Hell's Angel looked ashamed and stood.

When the Broncos were playing Saint George in what my googling has led me to believe was the 1993 Grand Final, I made up a sign using one A4 sheet of paper for each letter spelling out "Let's go broncos!" My best friend Jess and I put on our Broncos jerseys and she stood out the front of the house with a whistle. Whenever a car drove past my house she blew the whistle. That was my cue to ride my pink BMX around the front of the house with my flag billowing behind me! God, we were cool... The neighbours across put up their own sign saying "Up St George" and it was all a friendly rivalry... until the cops showed up. We were terrified. Was there public picketing laws we were breaking? Were we supposed to get a permit? Were we going to jail? The cops pulled out their loudspeaker and stared us down. We stood... wondering how they treated seven year olds in prison. The cop spoke and it echoed around the streets: "Tshh... Who's gonna win?!...Tshh" We were ecstatic and screamed "BRONCOS!!!"

...

So it's nearly kick off time. I have a few thoughts.

I've seen Seal sing one of his two songs. But unless I've slipped into a brief coma, it appears nobody is singing the national anthem? I hope they're just waiting for the players to take to the field.

I don't remember anybody "delivering the ball" before, but I thought honouring the police with that waste of taxpayers money and police resources spectacular use of the helicopter was rather touching.

I thought I might spot some eye-candy to amuse me through the dull parts but alas, it appears not.

My initial thoughts on the commentators are they are all very angry. I didn't think sport required such passion and yelling before the ball was even in the stadium, let alone in play! There is a lot of testosterone in the atmosphere, it seems.

Where did the Queensland #2 get his white & pink boots from? They're super cute!

Was there an official dress code to get into the NSW side of the stadium? Every. Single. Person. has a blue jersey and a blue curly wig on! It's kind of awe-inspiring.

In a way, I am thankful that football doesn't have all the video ref and replays that NRL does. It seriously stunts the flow of the game. Admittedly, the correct decision is always reached but at what cost? It seems the ref won't make any decision without seeing it in super slow-mo...

There is a lot of nearly fighting, but not nearly enough really fighting.

NSW scored. I was afraid of this. The first time I watch the State of Origin and I curse my fellow Queenslanders to a loss. At least they didn't convert the try...

There's tackling a guy and there's playing Stacks On and deliberately smashing him into the ground. Perhaps the finer differences should be discussed with the players.

And while we're at it, what's the purpose of the scrum if the player throwing it in throws to his side of the scrum? Something about hugging each other and team building or something? Seriously. Anyone?

Dad just saw the NSW crowd. We had the following conversation.

Dad: They look like Oompa Loompas! Or Smurfs!

Me: No! No! They look like Things!!

Dad: ...

Me: Shut up! No. Things!

NSW supporters

...

It's half time and thankfully, Queensland has taken the lead in the 40th minute. Yeah, I know. 40 minute halves. Wusses. Suck it up for another 5 minutes, princesses!! As I wait for Ice Age 4 to bring more than ads (This is like the Super Bowl, right? I'm expecting Janet Jackson's nipple) I remember the time I was part of the State of Origin opening show. Years of dance training meant I was entrusted with a complicated dance routine. I donned a maroon jersey and sprinted across the field. Yeah, I don't get it either. But I was there! Then I left before the game started. I had school the next day!

...

So it seems that those ads were brought to us by Ice Age 4. Thanks for that... Let's get back into it!

Uh oh! NSW scored again. If you blame me, that's OK. I blame me too.

Aaaaand NSW scored again. Maybe I should stop typing?

Is that guys name really 'Cooper Cronk'? Did his parents say his name out loud before signing the birth certificate?

Oh my... Who cares what a stupid name he has, look
how devastatingly handsome this man is!

Queensland is making a comeback now. I'm impressed with that conversion! That takes real skill!

When the commentators and refs discuss things, I kind of feel like the adults are talking now. I don't know what they're talking about. I just wait until they announce the result. Oh look. It's not a try! But I have no idea why...

Perhaps my mistake was watching State of Origin alone. I enjoy the friendly Queensland v New South Wales rivalry. I guess a guy I play football with summed it up best. He missed Wednesday night football to watch the last State of Origin. He told me, "I don't actually really like NRL but my mates get together to watch. We don't see each other very much so it's a great excuse to catch up." And I guess that's the only good thing best thing about State of Origin. That, and Cooper Cronk!

Sunday, 10 June 2012

As I type this I am watching Flight 93. It is the true story of what happened to United Airlines flight 93 that landed in Pennsylvania - killing 40 innocent people but saving an indeterminable number of others. You know the one. "Let's roll!" That one.

I watched September 11 happen live. Four days previously I had turned 16. I was outside feeding my cat when I heard Dad yell out "Samantha....? Come here..." It was a tone of voice I've not heard since. I ran straight inside. The fear in his voice hit me like a bucket of iced water and I could not fathom what news he was going to bring me. My brother had just joined the Air Force and I admit my first thought was that he had been killed - that was the tone of voice he used.

He was staring at the TV. On it was two tall buildings with smoke billowing from one of them. I stared at the TV trying to connect what I was seeing with the fear in Dad's voice. I stammered, "Is this a movie...?" Dad replied "That's what I thought, but look. It says it's live. I just flicked channels and saw this..." We watched live as the plume poured out and small, firey pieces of debris fluttered to the ground. We listened as the news reader speculated that it was possibly a gas explosion. He was as clueless as we were. What happened next will haunt me for as long as I live.

Suddenly the camera pulled back to include more cityscape and a plane entered the screen.

"Dad, where is that plane going? ... Dad? Dad! Where is that plane going? DAD!!!"

It makes my heart race and a knot form in my stomach to think about it. It seemed to look less like a plane hitting a building and more like a building swallowing a plane. It just... disappeared. It was obliterated. I knew nobody had survived.

Suddenly Dad and I connected the initial images of the burning building with the fate of its twin that we had just witnessed. This wasn't an accident. None of it was an accident. We watched as the fired burned and the smoke continued to billow. We listened intently for any skerrick of information that could help to make sense of the information we were hearing. That information never came. Never.

Cameras beamed images of people above the points of impact waving for help. They waved jackets and their arms. They would have been screaming for help, but we couldn't hear. And we couldn't do anything to help. We saw people falling from the buildings. No. Falling is not the right word. Jumping. They were jumping to their deaths. Plummeting to the ground was preferable to spending another second that close to the intolerable heat of the burning jet fuel. As is my way, I have since repressed this. Dad tells me I saw it. I don't remember. This was where my mind drew the line and ceased to cope.

We heard of a possible explosion or plane crash at the Pentagon. Details were fuzzy. It seemed to be the theme of the night. Fuzzy details. Speculation. Fear.

Fireman, policeman and ambulance crew arrived. With unwavering bravery they raced into the burning buildings to do what they could. My heart swelled with hope that there would be no more deaths. Those who were still alive would be saved.

Then the building swayed.

It swooped.

And everything above the impact point collapsed.

The weight was too much for the rest of the structure to bear and the whole building fell.

It had been nearly an hour since the first impact.

Dad and I sat in shock. I cried. I don't remember what we talked about - what aspects of the events we were witnessing warranted discussion. But as the dust settled from the first tower collapse I suddenly said to Dad, "Could you imagine what it would feel like for the people still in the tower that's standing? They must be wondering if their tower will fall..." I will never forgive myself for saying this because literally as I finished my question, the second tower swayed, swooped and collapsed upon itself. Just as the first tower did. The horror I felt was indescribable.

Word had begun to come through of a plane crash in Pennsylvania - but in an empty field. It seemed like a coincidence rather than part of the attacks. More fuzzy details. More speculation. More fear.

Dad insisted I go to bed. His compromise was to move the TV from the kitchen into my bedroom so I could watch until I fell asleep. I took notes in a notebook of everything I was hearing. I had to do something. I wrote in my diary.

What a horrible tragedy! The Trade Centre Towers in New York were hit by a Boeing 767 @ 10:50pm EST / 8:50am NYT, then another about 18 mins later. The Pentagon was hit. Then the 2nd hit tower collapsed followed by the 1st tower. A Pennsylvania plane was crashed. All were hijacked <- terroroists. I was saying, after 1st collapse "How horrible 4 ppl in 1st tower." Then it fell. I'm shaking and crying.

I fell asleep just before dawn. I don't remember why I went to school. Considering Dad let me have time off for the World Cup, I don't imagine I would have had trouble getting that day off school. It was a cold, wet, drizzle day. I wrote in my diary the next night too.

Eerie weather 4 an eerie mood. As if Mother Nature was holding a minute's silence. (Grade 11 did) Oh, it's terrible! I just wanna curl up and die. I don't wanna grow up just to fit into this cruel, sick, evil world. 2 do my help, I saved a cat today.

Two days later, television was still showing September 11 news broadcasts instead of normal programming. I couldn't wait to get home to see more and learn more. I needed some sense to be made from this. I still think about the events of September 11. Not just at anniversaries of the tragedy or at times like now - I am still watching the movie right now and have cried a few times so far. Watching September 11 live at the tender age of 16 affected me more than watching the news recaps ever could. And I hope I never witness anything that could affect me as much as long as I live.

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions

Where were you when September 11 happened?

Did you watch it live or did you find out about it when you woke up on the Wednesday morning?

How has September 11 affected you?

Surrounded by our friends of every faith, we know this is not a clash of civilizations. It's a conflict between murderers and humanity. This is not a question of retaliation or revenge. It's a matter of justice leading to peace. The only acceptable result is the complete and total eradication of terrorism.

Saturday, 9 June 2012

This is approximately 12 weeks. So I've decided that I want to lose weight before I leave - for numerous reasons. I'm not 100% happy with my shape, I wish I was a bit skinnier and yes, I worry about what people (read: guys. Ok, one guy!) think about my body. I'm not as secure as I like to make out.

I am 167cm tall and I weigh (I think) about 62kg. My scales don't have a battery in them right now. But regardless, I am not my goal weight which is 56kg. I am healthy but I am not skinny. But when I expressed this plan to lose weight over the next 12 weeks, through good old-fashioned diet and exercise, I was met with a lot of resistance.

I announced it to my dad in the hopes he could encourage me - to making better decisions when choosing food and to ensuring I do some sort of exercise every day. Dad responded: "Women would kill to have your figure". And I know he's right. Someone who weighs 80kg or who wished they had the classic hour glass figure I have would kill to have my figure. But I am not perfect and don't think I would ever be someone's ideal. In fact, in Hollywood, I would be the fat girl. I'm not making this up. I am the same height as Megan Fox. Now add 10kg because she weighs 52kg. And look at her. All walking around, living, breathing & looking hot without her organs shutting down. (Side note: We also both have brachydactyly. But I only have it in one thumb...)

167cm (5'6") & 52kg (115lbs)

I feel I am a few kilos overweight. I know my dad is wary because I had an eating disorder non-specified (EDNS) when I was around 15 or 16. I starved myself for days on end and as well as the milk run, I did around 500 sit ups every day - sometimes twice a day. I was the same height I am now but I weighed 52kg. That's more than 10kg less than I weigh now and the same as Megan Fox. So I know damn well there is room for improvement. I don't want to be that skinny. I went on a camp & when I came out in my bathing suit, the rest of the attendees were shocked at how skinny I was. And thanks to my hour glass figure, I'm not exaggerating, a guy actually managed to put his hands around my waist, touching both middle fingers and thumbs together to completely encircle my waist. It was a stretch & contorted my waist, but he did it. But having said this, the official underweight BMI is 18.5 and I had a BMI of 18.6 so I still, technically, wasn't underweight.

I currently have a BMI of 22.2 and am aiming for 20.1 (which would give me the same height & weight as the "curvy" Jennifer Lopez or the stunningly gorgeous Jessica Alba) so I am not in any way endangering my health.

167cm (5'6") & 58kg (127lbs)

I know I'm not fat but I still could be skinnier, fitter and more toned. So I am choosing healthier foods.

I used to have dessert every night but I am cutting that out.

I used to have 2-3 glasses of soft drink (Coke is my poison of choice) every day but I am going to try for only one with dinner, or even none.

I plan to have two pieces of fruit every day and try to drink more water.

I am completely cutting out takeaway.

I exercise a lot for fun but in addition to my football on Monday nights, training on Thursdays & a game every weekend, I plan to add more.

I want to do 30 minutes of stretching / yoga every day to lengthen my muscles and increase flexibility.

I want to go for a 7km ride or a 3km run every Tuesday and again on either Friday, Saturday or Sunday, depending on when my game is.

I plan to do light weights while I'm watching TV.

So rather than tell me I'm stupid for wanting to lose weight or insist that I'm perfect just the way I am, know that I thank you for your kind words and concern, but please just support me! Or if you feel like it, maybe even join me!

Thursday, 7 June 2012

Forget shoving a pea under your mattress. I'm going to teach you how a princess really sleeps. Follow my handy step by step guide and you too can wake up looking like this!

As soon as you get home from work, sit in front of the TV with your laptop on your lap for no discernible reason other than to look down at Twitter every now and again. This also provides a good cover to avoid conversations you don't want to have. "Sorry, I was reading a really important article on a topic relevant to my professional field of interest. What inane crap were you prattling on about?" This is more effective when the person is not standing behind you looking suspiciously at the LOLcat riding an invisible bike on your screen.

10.48pm Finally have a shower. Dance around under the water because your body has now decided it has energy.

11.06pm Emerge from the shower & make it as far as the couch.

11.19pm Realise you are cold. Cue the further realisation that you are sitting on the couch in your wet towel chatting happily to Twitter. Get your dinosaur PJs on.

11.24pm Sit back on the couch with your laptop on your lap.

11.29pm Decide you should go to bed if you have any chance of waking up at a decent hour.

11.30pm Realise the next show on Fox8 is your favourite ever episode of Family Guy. (It always is.) Don't actually watch, just sit in front of the TV tweeting.

11.59pm Tell Twitter you are going to bed.

12.02am Put your wheat pack in the microwave for four minutes. Princesses don't have time for such trivial things as creating their own body heat. Tweet.

12.03am Look at the microwave. Still three minutes to go. Tweet.

12.04am Assume three minutes has now passed. Get impatient. Tweet.

12.05am Get bored and go sit back down on the couch to wait.

12.17am Remember your wheat pack. Find it's not that hot anymore. Put it on for another two minutes. Tweet.

12.19am Put the wheat pack under the covers as you set up the 1951 version of Alice in Wonderland on your Xbox to watch while you fall asleep.

12.20am Crawl into bed and wrap yourself around a wheat pack the size of a computer mouse. Curse every decision you ever made that lead to you sleeping alone. Tweet about it.

12.22am Check Twitter. Join in to a conversation about what the modern day equivalent of a mix tape is.

12.24am Get engrossed in Twitter-flirting with the hot guy from overseas.

12.37am Realise you aren't even watching Alice in Wonderland. Tell Twitter this time you really are going to sleep.

12.38am Turn on the sleep app that is actually a finely tuned, custom made track - a blend of a river, rain, birds, a music box, underwater sounds, something called Duduk and something called Toskana. Dock your iPhone and set the volume for 20.

12.39am Grab Puppy, the stuffed dog you've had since you were three, from under your bedside table and curl up under your quilt. Shiver.

12.46am Suddenly realise that not only are you not asleep, you're somehow on your iPad which was beside you in bed and are now looking at Twitter.

12.47am Assume the correct princess sleeping position. This is difficult to master but if you are a true princess, you will not be able to sleep any other way. For this you need two pillows. Lift the top pillow and lie on the bottom pillow. Curl up on your side. Let the top pillow rest on top of your head to create a gentle weight on your ears. Pull the corner of the top pillow case around your head, covering your eyes like a Zorro mask, but leaving your nose free to breathe. Tuck this pillow case corner under your head to keep the pillow in place. Tuck Puppy under your arm and then pull the quilt right up under your chin. If done correctly, this is what you will look like.

1.01am Look at the clock. Flip over and assume the princess sleeping position but facing the other way.

1.15am Look at the clock. Flip over and assume the princess sleeping position but facing the other way.

1.33am Look at the clock. Flip over and assume the princess sleeping position but facing the other way.

So, did you feel the urge to straighten the pencils? Did you want to twist that one biscuit around so they all faced the same way? Probably. Because you have OCD, right? It's no big deal. Everyone is a little bit OCD, aren't they?

Well actually, no. You're not. You're "a little bit OCD" like I'm "a little bit pregnant". And I'm not pregnant. But I do have OCD.

If it seems like I'm slightly manic about this, it's because I am. This pervasive misconception that preferring things to be alphabetical equals suffering from OCD drives me to desperation because, like I said, I do have OCD, or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, if you're out of the mental health loop. Both a psychologist and a psychiatrist have diagnosed me with OCD. And it's hard. It's a lot harder than many people would believe.

If you know me IRL, you'll know that I need to have volumes on an even number. I mean, I have to. I nearly killed my whole family leaping from the back seat to the front seat because my brother (who was driving) decided to test out just how badly I wanted the car stereo volume on an even number. In terms of compulsions, I am thankful that I have got off lightly. I do not have the debilitating need to wash my hands over and again or to open and close doors a set number of times. But even still, this aversion to odd numbers is not my OCD. This compulsion is simply the symptom that manifests on the outside and that you can see. No, OCD is much more than this and not many people understand. Some of my closest friends may not even understand.

You are all aware that I have thanatophobia (the fear of death). But having OCD as well means I am thinking about death constantly. I am not exaggerating when I say the only relief I get from thinking about my own mortality and the inevitable deaths of my loved ones is while on a football field. That's 90 minutes in the space of a week (a total of 10,080 minutes) that I don't think about death. And yes, I even think about death in my sleep. It is exhausting. It is so exhausting that last year I decided I couldn't take this life of constant fear and thinking about death anymore. I decided to kill myself. That is OCD. It is persistent, invasive, relentless. It is continuous thoughts that disturb the sufferer and ruins their life. It is not lining your pencils up on your desk.

There is another, little known, disorder called OCPD or Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder and this is more akin to what people believe OCD is like. People with OCPD have "a pervasive pattern of preoccupation with orderliness" whereas people with OCD have "an anxiety disorder characterized by intrusive thoughts that produce uneasiness, apprehension, fear, or worry". OCPD manifests through "a chronic non-adaptive pattern of extreme perfectionism, preoccupation with neatness and detail" but OCD manifests through "repetitive behaviours aimed at reducing the associated anxiety... of thoughts that recur and persist despite efforts to ignore or confront them".

I am not trying to play "my pain is worse than your pain', I promise. My reason for writing this is because when I (or anyone else who is legitimately diagnosed) admit to having OCD, it is not as trivial as the general public believes it to be. While many people get funny about stereo volumes or like to have their pegs matching when hanging out clothes and they have this in common with some OCD sufferers, I assure you, these people don't understand the half of what living with OCD is like. And somebody saying "I am a little bit OCD about my pegs" is just insulting. You are finicky. You are a perfectionist. You are a control-freak. But you are not OCD. You are not even "a little bit OCD". Please don't presume to know the hell that an OCD sufferer lives in on a daily basis because you like your CD's to be in alphabetical order. It's like telling someone with a brain tumor that you have a little bit of a brain tumor too because you have a headache. Please stop. You are looking foolish.

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions

Are you willing to admit to being guilty of claiming to be "a little bit OCD"?